


a tempo like the waves

by Saltlordofold



Category: Suburra - La Serie | Suburra: Blood on Rome (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coming Out, F/F, Fix-It, Friends to Lovers, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Internalized Biphobia, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Canon Compliant, Pregnancy, big feelings for Spadino and Angelica's friendship, death mention, diagnosis: idiots in love, driving under the influence (I mean TECHNICALLY), lavender wedding, set vaguely at the beginning of s3, taking canon and bullying it into being nicer, taking characters and bullying them into talking about their feelings, wingwomen but also girlfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:56:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28396533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saltlordofold/pseuds/Saltlordofold
Summary: Aureliano, behind the wheel, had been the one to finally break the silence.“Got time to swing by the hotel?” he had asked, with his eyes on the wet road in front of him, “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”It had started out as close to a routine day as people like Spadino and Aureliano could get, but it ended up being so much more than that.***Since there are so many amazing international fans here, I translated my own fic"la tempistica delle onde"from italian :)
Relationships: Alberto "Spadino" Anacleti & Angelica Sale, Aureliano Adami & Nadia Gravone, Aureliano Adami/Alberto "Spadino" Anacleti, Nadia Gravone/Angelica Sale
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29





	a tempo like the waves

**Author's Note:**

> This is my own translation of my fic ["la tempistica delle onde".](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28109490) I hope you can enjoy it ^^

Pretty much unremarkably, was how that day had started off. Another one of those long drives from one side of the Eternal City to the other, like so many before that one. Going from one problem to the next, doing their best to solve it, and each time getting confirmation that their predicament was so decidedly hydra-like that two more issues had usually arisen by the time they were sure they had just managed to settle one. 

As close as people like Spadino and Aureliano could get to a routine day, really.

Well, more or less. In the evening Sibilla had called them in, needing a fresh signature on some new paperwork, and like always, the old accountant had pranced on the chance to give out one of her usual stern talking to’s – exept the one she’d managed in that day had been particularly _venomous_. 

That was probably the reason behind the sullen silence that had ended up hanging over them in the car on the way back to Ostia. The radio had stayed turned off and Spadino was quietly watching the streetlamps fly by him, turning the old woman’s harsh words and dark omens in his mouth, bitter pills to swallow.

As if they needed more reminders of how much they were risking in their crazy enterprise, how slim their chances of success, not to mention _survival_ …

Aureliano, behind the wheel, had been the one to finally break the silence.

“Got time to swing by the hotel?” he had asked, with his eyes on the wet road in front of him, “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

Spadino had nodded in agreement without a second thought: it wasn’t unusual for them to end their evening at the place Nadia had jokingly started calling “Hotel _Chez Adamì_.” Quite the opposite, actually: getting together to take stock of the day’s events, sitting at the now-familiar black marble brass-finished bar, was starting to look more and more like a proper ritual of sorts. The thought had been enough to pull a smile from Spadino.

So really, all things considered, maybe the only truly unusual thing about that evening was that it was raining like crazy. A proper flood was coming down from an angry, leaden sky, the kind only Rome can give, a summer downpour wild and sudden enough to overflow gutters, send all traffic haywire, and turn every tunnel in the capital into a muddy pool of Olympic proportions. The sea was a mean grey and flat as a sheet as they drove by it, even if it looked like it was boiling at the surface, as if the heavy downpour had somehow managed to hammer down its will as well. Spadino and Aureliano were already drenched from all their previous back-and-forths, but the last brief trip from the car to the hotel’s entrance finished to seal the deal: a dark stain was forming in the carpeting at Spadino’s feet, and luke-warm water dripped freely from both their heads.

“Fucking hell,” said Aureliano, his usual elegant self, as soon as he’d closed the door behind them, “It’s coming down like a motherfucker.”

The rain drummed at the tall windows of the atrium so loudly that he had to slightly raise his voice to be heard over the noise. With another curse under-breath, Aureliano removed his drenched leather jacket and pushed his short hair from his forehead, before turning to look at Spadino.

Like a good little soldier, Alberto kept his eyes everywhere but on noticing the way his wet shirt had clung to his chest. He’d gotten really good at that sort of thing, in the past couple of months. A couple more, he hoped, and maybe it wouldn’t even be a conscious effort anymore.

“Spadì, you’re soaked,” Aureliano pointed out – blind, as usual, to the problems he caused, “Want something dry?”

Alberto hesitated, adjusting his hoodie. It wasn’t cold at all - quite the opposite - but the feeling of wet fabric against his skin wasn’t exactly pleasant either. He had to admit it: something dry sounded great, right then.

“Sure,” he surrendered, “lend me a shirt, or whatever.”

He wasn’t exactly looking forward to having to change in front of Aureliano, but at least the days where that worry would have been enough to make him turn down the offer were behind him.

“Attaboy,” Aureliano nodded, “Come on, I’ll find you something.”

He led the way, starting for the bedroom – as much as an empty hall with only a bed and a couple other pieces of sparse furniture around it could be called “a bedroom”. Unlike Alberto, Aureliano was never the kind for self-consciousness: still in the middle of the corridor, after flinging his jacket on some random chair along the way, he casually peeled off his shirt, baring scars and tattoos alike without a second thought.

Alberto always envied his ease.

“What about Nadia?” he asked, looking around – and deliberately, not ahead.

As he walked, he dragged his finger on the intricate wallpaper, following along with some ridge as if to solve a labyrinth. “Where is she?”

“At the fair.”

Aureliano had reached his dresser, and was rummaging inside. He picked a shirt for himself and slipped it on distractedly, while Alberto stopped at the threshold, leaning his shoulder against the door frame. 

Grey light from the cloudy sky flooded the bare-boned room, dripping cold over the sparse furniture, the unmade bed. The rain rushed down so heavily along the tall bay windows that it concealed all view from the outside world. Surely the coral-themed decor had something to do with it, but in that setting that room really looked like a cave, an underwater hiding of sorts, so far away from Ostia, Rome, and all their headaches.

“Something needed fixin’,” Aureliano was explaining, still in the middle of his rummaging, “The rain is making a mess, from what I gathered. She said she had to spend the night over, to keep an eye on things until she can sort it out tomorrow, with daylight.”

Itching away at a piece of paint sticking out from the wall, Spadino let out a low whistle.

“Damn,” he said, impressed, “With everything we have going on, she’s still looking after that place too, huh? Busy woman.”

Alberto liked Nadia. Maybe that was sad, but it was true. Despite their rough beginnings, she was nice to Angelica, now, which would already have been enough to put her in his good graces. But there was more to it: even if he still hadn’t willed himself to try and find out exactly what that was, Alberto had a feeling that him and Nadia had something in common – besides the obvious. He’d get there, eventually, but in the meantime, it was much easier on him to act aloof and only talk to her through Aureliano when they were in the same room.

“You’ve got no idea,” Aureliano nodded, amused smirk on his lips, “She’s worse than us, that one. Always running somewhere.”

Busy as he was repressing the sneaky pang of sadness that little private smile caused him, Alberto barely uncrossed his arms in time to catch the t-shirt Aureliano had just thrown his way.

“There you go,” the Adami said, “Pretty yourself up, why don’t you.”

Alberto spread the t-shirt out in front of him. It was black, plain, with the usual “v” shaped neck Aureliano seemed to always favor.

“You didn’t have anything… _nicer_?” he joked, just for the pleasure of teasing him.

“Give me a break, you fashionista,” was the predictable, but no less enjoyable answer.

Alberto laughed. It was such an easy thing to do when Aureliano squinted those playful, oh-so-blue eyes at him.

The easiest thing in the world.

Still smiling, Alberto slipped off both his hoodie and, without pause, his shirt. Without saying anything, Aureliano took them both from his hands, hanging them to dry over the back of a nearby chair.

It was all so simple, in moments like that one. When him and Aureliano were like that, joking around or even just hanging out in silence, nothing felt as heavy anymore. When him and Aureliano were like that, Alberto needed nothing more, which was why he could finally and completely relax.

That was without accounting for Aureliano’s strange fads, of course.

“Does it still hurt?” the man asked out of nowhere, while Alberto was still turning the shirt around, looking for the right way in.

It took him a second to understand what he’d meant, but by following Aureliano’s gaze, he got there soon enough. There was no trace left on his rib-cage from the bruise left behind by Inspector Marchilli’s vicious kick, landed on him almost four months earlier, in that cold night in Borgo Pio District, but Alberto still remembered the shape of it vividly – not to mention the throbbing.

“Nah, it stopped a while back,” he answered, starting to pull the shirt over his head and trying not to linger too long on the memories of that shitty night, “But now I’ve got a bump there like you can’t imagine.”

Not that he’d been to the doctor, or gotten a radio or anything, but judging by that weird lump on his bone and on how long the pain had lasted, with hindsight Alberto wondered if Lele’s dad, that night, hadn’t done in his rib worse than he’d figured at first. Not that it really mattered: in the end, Alberto thought darkly, the man had paid for it much too dearly for him to still be holding a grudge.

He’d completely forgotten that Aureliano couldn’t have known how things had panned out for his injury, in the end, because he’d been there in the couple of days right after, yes, but soon after... Alberto forced himself to smile, running his fingers on the now-familiar lump under his skin. It was better to laugh about that sort of thing, he knew, or else he wasn’t sure what he’d be left to do with them.

“Check this shit out,” he said, as if bragging.

“Let me see that.”

He hadn’t meant it as an invitation, but apparently that was how Aureliano took it, because he immediately closed in. Alberto barely had time to lower the shirt, scrambling for any barrier between his skin and Aureliano’s fingers before they could reach for him.

The fabric was much too thin to protect him in a way that mattered, anyway. Alberto felt his jaw twitch as the back of Aureliano’s index found the right rib and ran over it, firmly, but also with something that looked way too damn close to _care_.

“Shit,” Aureliano said quietly, “He really got you good, didn’t he?”

Alberto kept his eyes low. They were way, _way_ too damn close. With the passing of time, he’d done his best to build himself up for this sort of occurrence, but even he had limits.

“Yep,” was all he managed out, before slipping out of that dangerous posture and towards the much more open - and therefore, safer - space of the bar.

He didn’t look back to make sure Aureliano was following him. Catching his own reflection on a polished piece of brass, Alberto noticed that his wet hair had fallen all flat against his forehead. That wouldn’t do. With a wince, he ruffled his fingers through it, trying – and failing – to regain some volume. He didn’t look like himself at all, with that almost normal haircut. Once, Angelica had told him that right out of the shower he looked like some random university student, and the thought had been enough to send them both into a long laughing fit.

“Stop that,” Aureliano jested, passing him by to reach the bar first, “You’re already pretty.”

He jumped over the counter, while Alberto found his usual bar stool and perched himself on top of it.

“ _Pretty hostess, heavy bill,_ ” he quoted, drumming his fingers on the marble and trying not to find himself too pathetic for still smiling at the obviously joking compliment.

“What?” Aureliano asked, from behind the counter where he had knelt down, probably taking inventory of the various drawers hidden there.

“ _I Malavoglia,_ ” Alberto explained, “Wow, you really _can’t_ read, huh?”

“Shut up, I know you learned that from Wheel of Fortune.”

Alberto, who was in the middle of a spin on the stool, couldn’t help but laugh again.

“Go fuck yourself, Aurelià.”

Aureliano reemerged from behind the bar with the bastard, self-satisfied grin he wore when he was being a dick on purpose. Casually, he leaned his arm on the faucets of the beer tap, a beautiful vintage thing with bone handles, probably dried out since more than a decade.

“Anyway, Nadia filled the fridge,” he said, with a vague gesture towards the drawers, “Want something? There’s beer.”

Alberto nodded, with a gesture of his hand than meant “ _obviously._ ” “You know I never turn down a cold one.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to get that.”

Still wanting to move around – like often – Spadino hopped off his stool. There was a song at the back of his head, a bass line he must have heard before, even if he didn’t remember when or where. Not that it mattered. One step, another, a tight spin. He was getting back his drive to dance: the bad mood from earlier was slowly dissipating, in favor of the simple – and rarer by the day – pleasure of just fucking around with Aureliano like they used to do back when they’d just met.

He should have known that the time for that kind of lightheartedness had come and gone, but for now the illusion, in that day like so many others, seemed determined to hold on a little while longer.

“I’d kill to know what goes on in your head when you do that,” a bemused Aureliano said.

Alberto spun around with all the deserved theatrics.

“I'm listening to _the rhythm of life_ ,” he explained, bowing and offering up the dumbest hand gesture he could come up with.

He wanted to make him laugh again, and like often, he succeeded. Aureliano shook his head, but he was smiling wide as he popped the cap off the second beer – that sunny smile of his, so unexpectedly bright and earnest – and he was still cackling when he reached him.

“Just sit your ass down,” he said, shoving a beer in his hand and pointing at the couch.

Alberto did as he was told, but not without one last little spin. He sunk into the couch, and the first taste of very cold beer tore a satisfied groan from him.

“ _Now_ we’re talking,” he sighed happily.

With a less than elegant sound, Aureliano let himself fall heavily by his side.

“You really have a problem,” he mocked, prompting Alberto to roll his eyes.

“Seriously? For _one_ beer after a hard day of work?”

“Right, my bad, ” Aureliano snorted, “I keep forgetting you’re the most reasonable man I know.”

He didn’t add anything else after that, though, rather letting silence settle as he sipped on his beer. Alberto did the same, watching the rain run down heavy across the tall bay windows in front of them.

“It’s really coming down, huh?” Aureliano said quietly, after a few long seconds with only the rush of downpour as a background noise.

Alberto threw him a side glance. There was something odd about his voice, he knew him more than enough by then to be able to tell as much right away. He searched his face for a clue, but it was hard to stay focused, because in the cold light of the thunderstorm, Aureliano’s eyes looked even bluer than usual – which never seemed possible, and yet somehow it kept happening. The streams of rain down the window projected shadows on his face like lights in the back of a nightclub by closing time, when the music slowed down and couples wrapped around each other tightly for one last dance.

Alberto looked down, but it wasn’t enough to dispel the sudden and embarrassing image that had just flashed in front of his eyes. He suddenly realized how close him and Aureliano were sitting. _Really_ close. _“Knees-bumping, shoulders-touching, i-can-smell-your-aftershave”_ kind of close.

Was Alberto going crazy, or was Aureliano getting closer, lately? Earlier, that thing with his rib, yesterday those pats on his knee, and now this sitting smashed together like commuters on public transportation – and the at-least-six-people-sitting couch being too small clearly wasn’t the issue there. Aureliano had always been a very tactile guy, much to Alberto’s torment, but recently…

Alberto took another sip of his beer, and when he raised his gaze again, Aureliano’s face was really _not enough inches_ away from his.

Recently it seemed Aureliano’s notion of personal space had finished flying out of the window for good.

Quickly Alberto lowered his eyes again, and to give himself something to do, he took another chug of his beer. To give himself the courage he sorely needed, he took four or five more. Just like that, he realized he had already finished his bottle.

 _Great,_ he berated himself, _‘cause what I need right now is even_ less _control._

At least it was just beer. And he wasn’t leaving Aureliano behind, either, because the Adami had finished his own as well. When he noticed it, he rose to his feet.

“I’ll get you another,” he said quietly.

With both bottles in his hand, Aureliano made his way back to the bar. Alberto took advantage of the fact that his back was turned to bury his face in his hands and exhale a deep sigh.

In the shifting of air caused by his getting up, he had gotten another wave of Aureliano’s aftershave. He always wore the same one, ever since they’d met: a marine-scented thing, of the kind that came in a blue bottle, Alberto was sure. But not some cheap shit, either: the smell was complex in a way that betrayed it as something, if not luxurious, at the very least high-end. In all that time Alberto – despite knowing a thing or two about expensive things – still hadn’t managed to understand what brand it was – maybe because he knew, deep down, that finding out would have been _a terrible idea_. Still, by that point his reaction to that smell bordered on Pavlovian: he felt the all-too-familiar flutter at the bottom of his stomach, and that tight knot in his throat that always took several long minutes to come undone.

Well, he thought, dragging his hands up to push the wet hair from his face, at least it was clear: the time to run away again was definitely drawing near. As much as Alberto liked being there – and it was a lot – the truth was that he knew he’d best cut short to that evening, like he had so many others before it. If he didn’t, then the situation could turn really dangerous, really fast. 

It was the paradox of his relationship with Aureliano: no matter how much Alberto craved it, that precious time together, he also knew full well that they would be much better off if he didn’t find too much of it.

“ _Ao’_ , Spadì.”

Aureliano’s voice startled him, and Alberto silently cursed himself: once again, he’d let himself get caught in a moment of weakness.

“You okay?” Aureliano asked.

That _care_ again. _It almost made him angry._ Alberto took the offered beer, raising to Aureliano what was probably the fakest smile in all of history.

“Couldn’t be better, _fratè_ ,” he said, doing his best to seem at least a little credible, “Just looking forward to crashing back to bed, if I’ve got to be honest.”

Aureliano let out one of his short, wordless sounds of agreement, sitting down again. This time, Alberto took care to scoot over just enough to keep at least the bare minimum distance between the two of them.

There were no small victories.

“So,” he started as soon as they were settled, anxious to keep the conversation moving, while Aureliano drank from his fresh bottle – not his usual, Alberto couldn’t help but notice, to keep going after the first, “What was it you wanted to tell me?”

Aureliano Adami never looked embarrassed – Alberto wasn’t entirely convinced he could even _feel_ that emotion – but some times he happened to look down with his brow furrowed in a way that made him look almost – _almost_ – uncertain.

“What I wanted to tell you,” he murmured, “Let me think.”

He wiped a hand across his face, rubbing hard at his tired eyes. Maybe another one of his headaches? Alberto nodded slowly, light-bulb finally deigning to flick alive in his brain. The beer, the silence, the frown: now it all started to make sense.

“I get it,” he said, “This is about what Sibilla said earlier, right?”

Aureliano shrugged, with a gesture of his head that meant “ _well, you’re not wrong_.”

“I mean, yeah, I guess there’s that, too,” he admitted.

Alberto leaned forward to put his beer down on the coffee table in front of the couch. He couldn’t help but feel relieved: this at least he could handle.

“Aurelia’, you have to stop listening to that witch,” he said firmly, “Now that the girls are running things in North Rome, we have plenty of time to focus on Cinaglia, the Cardinal, and the whole Jubilee thing. As for my brother, he’s laying low for now, so let’s make use of that. Once the money starts coming in, we’ll bring him to our side too, you’ll see. When it comes down to it, trust me: he understands dough more than anything.”

He leaned forward, looking for his gaze.

“She’s wrong about everything. Together, we can't be stopped,” he promised, before instantly regretting it and adding, to cover his tracks: “The four of us.”

Not the best conclusion, nor the most eloquent, but it seemed to be working anyway, because Aureliano slowly started nodding.

“You’re right,” he sighed.

Finally returning his gaze, Aureliano smiled, then, a tired smile which Alberto had no issue mirroring.

“There you go,” Spadino said, relieved.

Maybe Sibilla’s words had been stuck in his throat as well more than he’d realized, because that little speech of his had helped him too. Satisfied with himself, Alberto leaned back, propping his feet up on the table.

“Well then, now that we’re here, is there anything else on your mind?” he said, jokingly putting his arm behind the backrest to face Aureliano with _nonchalance_ , “Come on, Doctor Spadino will see you now. You can tell him all about your problem, and he’ll fix it, too! Whatever it is.”

He expected everything, except to see that smile fade away like a blown candle. His heart shrunk at the sight, because deep down, Alberto cared about little else.

“ _Whatever it is_ , huh?”

Aureliano wiped his face again, even harder than before.

“Of course,” Alberto said, more serious, but trying not to show it.

He was back to being worried, now.

Aureliano took the last sip from his beer, then a deep breath, and when he sighed it out, it looked like he’d made a decision as well. What decision, Alberto didn’t know, but he didn’t have to wait long to find out.

“Alright, then hear me out,” Aureliano said, setting the empty bottle down on the table next to his, “It’s about that day at The Sail again. You know the one.”

No need to ask, indeed: both of them knew exactly which day – or more accurately, evening – Aureliano was referring to.

A long shiver of unease ran down Alberto’s spine, and his stomach cramped up in that painful and sadly familiar way. A few notes rang in his head, distant echo of a song he used to love but never listened to any more.

“I keep thinking about that day, Spadì,”Aureliano continued, softly, and with at least the decency of looking uncomfortable as well.

Running a hand at the base of his short, still-wet hair, he added, even quieter:

“All the time.”

Could he have picked a worse topic? Not even if he’d tried to, _God damn him._

Alberto shifted himself to a more normal sitting position, trying to use whatever small time that won him to gather himself against the deep mixture of pain and discomfort that those memories at the abandoned City of Sports always caused him.

He wasn’t very successful, because to add salt to the wound, last time him and Aureliano had talked about that evening was during another of the worst days of their lives – although for somewhat different reasons. The memories – confused, of Lele, of Teo, of the sly smile on that piece of shit Alex’s mouth – were there instantly, boiling up right at the edge of his vision, and Alberto hurriedly went for another sip of beer, hoping to keep them at bay. Sadly for him, he reached for the wrong bottle, so he was left like a fool, dry-mouthed and empty-handed.

It had all started off so ordinary. How had they managed to get themselves from that to such dangerous waters?

“I told you already,” Alberto finally said, surprising himself with how calm he had managed to sound – almost indifferent, “That’s all in the past.”

“Not for me.”

Aureliano was looking at him, and even if Alberto felt like he was standing at the unsteady surface of an icy lake, ready to give out under each of his steps, he still wasn’t cowardly enough not to at least try to hold that gaze.

He regretted it instantly. Aureliano had the strangest look on his face, with eyes far too blue and far too shiny. Maybe it was from being tired, from the alcohol he still wasn’t used to, or from that headache of his, but it any case, it was enough to make Alberto hear the first worrying creak, harbinger of an incoming catastrophe.

“Last time, I didn’t get the chance to finish what I’d started telling you,” Aureliano said, “I didn’t even get to apologizing.”

Alberto scoffed, a sound he meant to defuse the mood but which came out plain _wrong_ , the clumsy stumbling around of a bad actor.

“I don’t need that,” he said, honest, because “last time”, he had to run out of that very room to go _bleed Teo like an animal_ , so when it came to the excuses he might have missed while he was doing that, he really couldn’t give less of a shit.

As if he hadn’t gone looking for them, anyway, that slur, that _hatred_. As if it hadn’t been all his fault from the beginning.

So no, what Alberto _really_ needed, if he had his word to say in it, was to put an end to that conversation. 

But he didn’t, apparently. Aureliano shook his head, obviously frustrated.

“You don’t understand,” he said, “You _never_ understand, ‘cause I suck at saying this kind of stuff. Fuck.”

This time, he was the one lowering his gaze first. He pulled up with his nose, brow knotted. _That expression again._ Softly, Aureliano said:

“Alberto, I’m trying to say something I wasn’t able to say last time. And earlier that fucking crone Sibilla somehow made me realize that I wasn’t willing to wait until the next tragedy to give it another shot.”

 _Alberto._ When it sunk into him what he’d just heard, it hit like a punch to the gut. _The first time_. Alberto raised to Aureliano a look of pure shock, but he didn’t get any time to manage the impact, because Aureliano was pursuing:

“I told you I cared for you. And it’s true.”

He cocked his brow, eyes still on the ground, as if talking to himself.

“God, if it’s true.”

Aureliano looked back up at him. Shadows dripped across his face from the water streaming down the window.

“But I was thinking something else.”

Under Alberto’s feet, the ice gave out a long, warning groan, before splintering into cracks like a spiderweb.

It had all started off so unremarkable. A day like many others, a routine evening.

Lately, Aureliano was always getting closer. 

_Right then,_ Aureliano was leaning in closer still, and he didn’t seem to have a plan to stop.

_What the hell was happening?_

“I was thinking that you were right, Albè,” Aureliano said, now closer than he’d ever been except for one time before that one, “You’ve always been right, about everything.”

“ _Everything,_ ” he repeated, one last whisper, barely a breath against Alberto’s lips right before contact.

The first kiss landed at the corner of his mouth. Like an introduction, a request for permission, of sorts – Aureliano stopping on his doorstep for just a moment, waiting to be invited in.

Alberto was shocked still. Frozen, breath stuck across his throat. And since he didn’t move, Aureliano seemed to gain confidence and grant himself the requested invitation, because his second kiss was firmer, more direct. Aureliano pressed his lips right at the center of Alberto’s mouth, and he felt him breathe hard. He was very warm, or maybe Alberto was the cold one, because his skin felt boiling against his. A rough hand traveled across his chest to settle at the base of his neck, rings fresh against the thin skin there, underneath which blood was pumping in a craze. Aureliano had closed his eyes, like a boy diving off a cliff, and Alberto was still motionless.

But slowly he was thawing.

His eyes, which had flown open wide, fluttered down. Aureliano. Was kissing him. _Aureliano. Pressed up against him._

Alberto realized he had raised his hands, reflexively. The beginning of a barrier, perhaps, one last defensive gesture, but pretend, weak, useless. All was left from it were both his hands on Aureliano’s chest, and slowly Alberto turned those hands into fists, tight around the hem of other man’s shirt, looking for a hold, a confirmation, something, anything. Perhaps he wanted to be sure that the Aureliano pressed flush against him wasn’t of the same ghostly breed as the ones who sometimes invited themselves into his saddest dreams. The only clue he needed came soon enough, and it wasn’t the soft, concrete touch of cotton under his fingers, nor the warmth of the skin underneath: when Alberto finally managed to inhale his first, shaky breath, all he could smell was a fragrance, much too familiar, of deep and blue ocean.

He was moving before he even thought about giving in. Tilting his head for a better angle, his body had made that decision for him: to do what he had wanted to do for the past four months – God forgive him, for much more than that: kissing Aureliano. Not like a thief, but for real, this time. Honestly.

The beard was rough under his palm when he raised his hand to cup his cheek. Aureliano’s reaction to that touch was instantaneous, and wild: with a tense inhale, he pushed himself even closer. His hand moved again, pushing itself further in to reach the back of Alberto’s neck, and there he held him, fingers pressed at the nape of his wet hair. And when Alberto, now set into irreversible motion, used the hand still grabbing Aureliano’s shirt to pull all of him to himself, Aureliano made a stunning sound against his mouth, a tight-lipped sigh, almost like _want, almost a moan._

And just like that, it was _too much._

Something jammed in Alberto’s brain, treacherous gear of a misfiring gun. The lake gave out under his feet, and like a slap ripping him from sleep, icy water sent him right back to who he was, where he was, with _whom_.

And what the _fuck_ he was doing.

The hand that was holding Aureliano’s shirt flattened into a shove, much stronger than he’d anticipated. Like a cornered animal Alberto pushed Aureliano away hard enough to shove him into the back of the couch, while he jolted up, far, as far away as he could.

 _“What the fuck are you doing!?”_ was all that came out of him, a broken parody of a shout, shaky and weak, and instantly the echo of those words hit him, in all their cruel irony.

His lips stung as if bitten. Out of breath as well, Aureliano was looking at him, and his look was horrid, an awful mixture of betrayal and pain. Of _panic_. He looked like Alberto had just buried his knife in his belly.

Alberto knew that feeling all too well.

 _It had all started off so normal_.

“Albè,” Aureliano started, “I-”

“Shut up,” Alberto cut him off, throat ablaze but unable to hear a single word from him, who looked up at him with such pain in his eyes, and spoke his name like he’d always done so, “You shut up. You-”

His hands were shaking, pathetically. It was confusion, it was fear- no, more than fear: terror.

Alberto was terrified.

“You can’t just do this,” he said, slowly, painfully, each word a razor-blade slicing though his lips, “Not after all this time.”

Not after he had tried so hard to get over him. Not with Nadia in the way, not to mention Angelica, and now even Rubina.

He could taste bile on his tongue, but still all that Alberto could breathe in was that cursed aftershave.

“ _Bergamot_ ,” his useless mind provided, “ _That’s what’s different about it._ "

All at once, his vision blurred, and Alberto shoved both heels of his palms over his eyes. No. _Everything but that_. No matter the cost, he wouldn’t let himself go that way. Not like last time, in the golden sunset, with I Quartieri blasting at full volume, and not even like that other time, the first, the cursed one from his teenage years, which had almost cost him his life.

It was all a trick again, a prank, another a cruel joke with him as the punchline.

“Aurelià,” Alberto weakly croaked out, “This isn’t funny.”

“I’m not being funny,” Aureliano said instantly, “Albè-”

He heard him get up, and his instinctive reaction was to back up, but Aureliano was faster and in a second, he was reaching out his fingers to graze the back of his hand. Alberto pulled it back as if they were white-hot.

“Don’t touch me.”

Another echo. He must have looked like some animal caught in car’s headlights, Alberto knew it because that was exactly how he felt. Aureliano didn’t reach out again, but it wasn’t enough. He had his mouth open, trying to say something more, and Alberto needed to get away from there, fast, now, and so he did, turning away and making for the exit.

“Albè, wait.”

He didn’t listen. In a few seconds Alberto was back in the atrium, grabbing the door handle and flinging it open. The humidity outside was thick enough to feel like a wall, and Alberto threw himself at it without a pause.

“Alberto, wait, Goddamn it!”

Alberto found himself stuck in place, half-way in and half-way out. It was still raining so hard, a constant downpour, like a waterfall. He turned around slowly. Aureliano was looking at him with those slightly mad eyes of his, and he was holding on to his arm. Hard. He had a beard and a few more tattoos, now, but maybe he wasn’t all that different, deep down.

Alberto took one step, just one, in his direction. Of the both of them, he had always been the weakest, he knew that full well.

But not that day.

“Let me go,” he snarled.

Aureliano obeyed.

***

  


It had gotten dark outside. Against the gilded window, the same storm still raged without looking like it had any plans on wearing out. Rubina’s room, still painted blue, looked awfully cold in the low remaining light.

Alberto was sitting at the edge of his bed. Or at least, he knew he was, _in theory_. If he trusted his senses, he was rather on the ceiling, floating somewhere above his body, looking down indifferent at his own shaking hands, the curve of his own shoulders. He didn’t have any thoughts, up there. He didn’t even clearly remember the drive home from the hotel, except for a few blurry impressions, barely flashes of images.

The windshield wipers going back and forth, back and fort, back and forth. The rumble of his engine, maybe a tad louder than it should have been. The blurred halo of the traffic light behind a veil of rain going from red to green and him not moving until someone honked at him once – or five times.

He was sitting on his bed and was still holding the shirt, badly crumpled up. Black, with a v-shaped neckline. He’d changed out of it but he couldn’t remember when.

He had wanted to run away, but he didn’t remember where.

“Hey, Albè.”

Angelica’s voice startled him back into his body. All at once he could feel the lukewarm touch of the soaked shirt in his hands, the clingy feeling of his wet hair against his neck, and a sea of way, way too many memories. And then that pain, deep within his guts, like a stabbing that wouldn’t end.

It was so tempting to just go back to the ceiling.

“Didn’t you see me?” Angelica laughed, “You snuck in like a ninja.”

Her tone was lighthearted, eyes on her phone, but her expression changed as soon as she saw his face.

“Hey, what’s happening?” she asked, rushing to sit beside him, “You’re pale as a sheet.”

Taking the wet shirt from him, she put it behind her on the bed and held his arm. She too was scorching hot as she touched him. Alberto made no move to reciprocate her hold.

“Talk to me,” Angelica said, looking for his gaze, “Did something happen? Is Titto causing trouble again?”

Aberto shook his head no. God, he didn’t have a clue where to even begin his lie.

“No, Angè,” he forced himself to start, hearing his own voice ringing as if from miles away, but feeling how agitated she was getting and knowing full well that no matter his own situation, she deserved nothing of that worry – and neither did the baby, “It’s not about business.”

He breathed in deep, more or less steadily. Maybe he could still come up with something half-way convincing.

“It’s Aurelia-”

That name scorched his lips, flashing on top of them the ghost feeling of another mouth. The words died out in Alberto’s throat, and all he was left to give her was a powerless look.

“What about Aureliano?” Angelica asked, looking even more confused, “Is he okay? Albè, what-?”

She stopped, eyes fixed in his. Alberto had no idea what she saw in them, but all at once, her worried brow seemed to relax a bit, and she leaned back, breathing more freely.

“Christ,” she sighed, raising her eyes to the ceiling, “You had me really scared for a sec’.”

Settling back close to him, she asked, more calmly, covering his hand with hers:

“So, what happened? Did you guys have an argument?”

Alberto could only look at her, stunned. How, when, and by what sort of strange miracle had the two of them, in their circumstances, gotten to the point where they were able to understand each other without words?

Alberto slowly opened his hand to welcome hers, intertwining their fingers on the shiny sheet. Her hand was warm, or maybe he was still the one being cold, but that didn’t matter. He didn’t deserve it, he knew, but slowly Alberto let himself lean some of his weight against his wife’s shoulder.

“More or less,” he finally managed to reply, softly.

He was so tired, all at once, so closing his eyes was easy when her hand raised to run through his wet hair.

“Talk to me,” Angelica whispered after a few moments of considerate silence, “You know you can tell me everything, right? Whatever it is.”

_Whatever it is, huh?_

Squeezing his eyes even harder, Alberto shook his head. He was dragging his thumb along the curve of Angelica’s hand, up and down, ever so slowly. It was strong, that hand, he knew it, but smooth, unscarred. So different from-

“Not everything,” he said, feeling choked, “Trust me.”

“Come on.”

Gentle, but firm, Angelica turned to face him, forcing him to open his eyes. Taking both his hands in hers, she looked down, while a sad smile bloomed on her lips.

“You know I’ve already figured out what it’s about, right?”

Alberto felt his jaw twitch. The dagger had settled somewhere between his liver and his lungs, and it throbbed there, furious, pushing itself further and further in with each of his breaths. It reminded him of when his rib was hurt, which reminded him of when Aureliano, less than a couple of hours earlier, was touching him there, in one of the last moments before disaster struck.

If only Alberto had known how that seemingly routine day was going to end, he would have made sure to enjoy every simple moment of it more.

“If you’ve figured it out,” he said blankly, “Then don’t insist.”

He should have felt more shame than fear, he knew, and there was a bit of that too, in whatever he had left of the place where emotions should be. But Angelica didn’t judge him, not for that, and not for much else either. She had proved that to him over and over again, in her own ways.

And she wasn’t backing down that day either.

“Albè,” she said firmly, “Just stop it. We already know how things are, don’t we?”

Aberto scoffed, a sound that in a universe far away from theirs might almost have looked like a laugh.

“Then what’s the point of talking about it?” he asked, with whatever little sarcasm he could gather. 

As always, that was his last defense. Alberto had already lived through a disaster, that day, so he certainly couldn’t risk another one.

But Angelica just shrugged, rolling her eyes again. She too knew a thing or two about sarcasm.

“Besides the fact that we all have to keep working together, and that I worry about you, about you both? I don’t know what else to tell you, Albè.”

 _You both_ , she had said, as if Alberto and Aureliano were still some form of a _them_. He meant to lower his gaze, but Angelica stopped his chin with her finger.

“Come on, listen to me,” she said, “I want to make a deal. From now on, you tell me everything, and I tell you everything back. With all that’s going on, we don’t have the luxury of keeping secrets any more. And we swear it.”

She dipped her eyes, focused on their interlaced hands. Gently, she moved them to guide Alberto’s fingers to her belly, warm and barely swollen.

“On her.”

She was dead serious. But she couldn’t really be asking what he thought she was, right? Of all people on the planet, Angelica was probably the last one who should want to hear what Alberto had to say, _especially on the topic of Aureliano._

But the strange, wordless understanding worked both ways, by then, and Alberto could see in those big dark eyes that it was exactly what Angelica was asking. Even more crazily, even if he wasn't entirely sure he even knew how to talk about it, he understood that, for her, for their alliance, maybe – maybe – he was willing to try.

That maybe – _maybe_ – it was true he needed it.

 _Rubina_ , Alberto silently called, like a prayer, in a way that was becoming habit, while his hand flattened over Angelica’s stomach to cup it gently, _Your mother really is unstoppable._

“You shouldn't swear,” he said quietly instead, but it was just for show, and once again Angelica knew that instantly, and smiled victorious.

“Come with me,” she said then, raising without warning.

She picked up her purse, and Alberto expected to see her walk to the door. So it took him a second to register what was happening when he saw her walk to the window instead, open it, and step over the still.

“Angè, what the _fuck_ are you doing?!” Alberto shouted, jumping to his feet.

The roar of the rain was still as loud as a race car engine. Lighting flashed across the sky, followed right away by a deafening boom of thunder. Angelica, kneeling on the portion of the roof right under the window, leaned back inside.

“Shut it, or they’ll hear you,” she whispered, “Get a move on!”

Alberto, who had rushed to the window, caught her offered hand in his and squeezed it, as hard as he could without hurting her.

“Angelica,” he stammered, rain whipping at his face, “Are you out of your fucking mind? You’re _pregnant!_ ”

She let out a sarcastic laugh.

“Oh, and I need _you_ to remind me? Come on, look how wide this is.”

Alberto looked at her, then at the roof, and a couple of meters further away the end of it, and a few more meters below, the hard concrete of the courtyard.

“Nope,” he simply said, shaking his head, “No, nope, actually, let me get that straight for you: _fuck_ no. Get back inside.”

“Albè, just trust me,” Angelica whined, “Don’t be a baby. I’m already getting one and I don’t need another.”

Alberto forced himself to rip his gaze from the concrete to look back at her. Once again, she was dead serious.

And once again, despite his best effort, he found that when it came to her, he couldn’t help but to trust blindly, and follow.

“Alright,” he surrendered, barely believing the words that were coming out of his own mouth, “But hold on tight, damn it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, already gone, not listening to him even a little bit.

 _Rubì_ , Alberto thought, much less reverently this time, _Feel free to delete that last message, on account of your mother being completely insane, actually._

With one last muttered curse, Alberto climbed over the window-still and onto the roof to follow his pregnant wife there, because that was apparently the direction this already crazy night had decided to take.

 _Well_ , he reluctantly had to admit, once standing outside,at least it was true that the roof was very wide. With his hand against the wall, squinting to see through the rain and settling night, lit up only by the street lamps and the window behind him, Alberto followed Angelica alongside the facade to his right.

She hadn’t gone far. Clearly at ease, she’d reached the place she meant to reach, at the outside angle of their room, and there she had sat down. They had passed under the roof of the last floor, where there was only the attic, so if they stayed close to the wall they could keep out of the rain and somewhat dry. Alberto, still nervous, looked around, but there was no one in sight, neither in the street nor the courtyard. Besides, their corner of the mansion was against the tall border wall, near a tree, pretty much shielded from view. And on top of that, with the kind of rain that was coming down, he could barely distinguish the statues near the fountain, so for all intents and purposes, they were practically invisible up there.

Not that Alberto had already surrendered to letting his daredevil of a wife completely of the hook.

“I’m going to nail that window shut first thing tomorrow,” he threatened, but Angelica only smiled.

“Sit down,” she instructed as her only answer.

She tossed him a cushion, the kind from the garden chairs – which were always missing, now that he thought about it.

“Go figure,” Alberto muttered, but he accepted the offered seat, and in the humid air settled next to her.

Meanwhile, Angelica was rummaging through her bag, and with all the satisfaction of a foraging bird after a successful find, she pulled two small rectangular and colorful packages out of it. She held one out to him: it was a chocolate bar.

“Now shut up and eat,” she ordered, ripping the packaging of her own snack and digging in without pause.

Alberto wasn’t hungry whatsoever, matter of fact, his stomach was so heavy that he was sure he couldn’t swallow a single bite, but Angelica shot daggers at him with her eyes, and to appease her, he did his best. It turned out to not be such an ordeal: after the first bite, Alberto realized he had not eaten anything since lunch that day, so even if the candy was really sweet, he managed to make decent work of it in the end.

“Are we really eating Kinder Buenos on this roof, right now?” he asked aloud, not really sure who he was even talking to.

“Are you complaining?” smiled Angelica, “Baby wanted a Sneakers bar?”

Shoving the second half of her chocolate in her mouth, she gave a little shrug.

“I’ve got four of those in my bag anyway. These fucking hormones.”

“How often do you come here?” Alberto asked, worried despite himself, and not just for the baby.

Angelica pulled out another candy bar, balling up the empty package of the first one in her fist before shoving it in her bag. There wasn't any wind anymore, but the heavy rain moved air around, wet and refreshing.

“Now, not much,” she said, “But when I first got here, quite a bit. Only at night, though, when I knew no one would see me. I like this house, Albè, but you know how crazy it can get in there. I needed air, some nights.”

A pause, while she unpacked the new candy. In that light – or lack thereof – her brown eyes looked pitch black.

“When you weren’t there,” she concluded, before halving the bar with a single, ruthless bite.

Alberto, with his eyes low, finished chewing his own before trying to speak.

“Angè, I’m-” he started, but she cut him off.

“That’s water under the bridge,” she said, mouth still full, “Now we’re together. Now we trust each other.”

She swallowed, then stretched her legs in front of her. Lukewarm water soon soaked through her long skirt, but she didn’t seem to care.

“Do we trust each other, Albè?” she asked quietly, looking at the rain.

Alberto, balling up his own plastic wrap, nodded meekly.

“We do.”

He told her everything. 

It didn’t take that long, all things considered. After all, even if it felt like a lifetime, only four months had passed from when Alberto and Aureliano – and Lele – had met, and Angelica already knew most of that part of the story. The tale from earlier that day was the one which took up most of the time, really, partly because Alberto had to connect the dots with prior events for it to make sense, but mostly because the wound still throbbed furiously, confusion was total, and finding the right words to say about it was sometimes plain impossible.

At the end of the whole sad yarn, Angelica kept silent for a few long seconds, after which she let out a deep, deep sigh.

“So in the end, he wants you,” she said.

Alberto nodded tiredly.

“And you blew him off.”

With a wince, Alberto rubbed at his eyes hard enough to see stars.

“I panicked, Angè,” he groaned, “What was I supposed to do?”

The knot in his throat was back in full force, and Alberto had to stop one more time before he could hope to go on.

He looked up. Above him he could see the roof, and at the edge of it, the curtain of rain which kept coming down without any sign of weakening. It was so strange, to be talking about that out loud. Part of Alberto was convinced that at the next blink, he’d be waking up on a couch somewhere, with the worst hangover of his life, wondering who he had to beat up for the bad drugs he must have been sold to have gotten such a fucked-up dream.

 _He wants you._ That wording was enough to flip him inside-out. But there hadn’t been much to misunderstand, had there been? The way Aureliano had forced himself to tell him those things – Aureliano who, in the arena of phrasing feelings, had never been a champion – the way he had pressed himself against him, _the way he had kissed him_ … Swallowing hard, Alberto wondered what Aureliano was doing in that same moment, but the thought was too big to handle, so he rather elected to go back to the moss-covered roof tile near his leg that he’d started to peal as he spoke, earlier.

“I can never anticipate what’s going on in that guy’s head,” he said, almost angry, “Drives me crazy.”

“It could have gone down better, yeah,” Angelica granted with a sympathetic wince, “You really treated each other like shit.”

_Euphemism of the year._

Squeezing his eyes shut, Alberto let his head go against the wall behind him.

While he spoke, earlier, Angelica herself had leaned against the wall, turned sideways to better face him. Distractedly, she had ran slow circles with her fingers on her belly, a mindless gesture which was well on its way to become habit, it seemed.

She had asked only one question, in all of his laborious tale. When with few, painful words, Alberto had been forced to explain the disaster at the Sail to make sense of the one that had just happened at the hotel, she had nodded, ran her numbers, and then, quietly, she had asked:

“So that first day, when you wanted to make her…”

She had said it with her hands closed over her belly, and a crease between her brows.

“It was because of him?”

Alberto had bitten the inside of his cheek. That sort of thing, right there? That was exactly why he knew this whole “telling everything” business was a terrible idea. It hurt to see her like that, but in front of that question Alberto would never have done her the offense of looking away.

She deserved the whole truth, by that point.

“Him too,” he had admitted.

She had nodded again, but she’d done so with the expression of tasting something bitter.

“But not just him,” Alberto had hurried to add, feeling a pang of panic in losing her gaze, “You have to believe me, Angè. It was always more than just that.”

“I know,” she said, “And anyway, it’s not like I’m any better.”

She was petting her belly, but her eyes had been lost far beyond.

“I wanted to make her _for power_ ,” she’d said softly, and Alberto had wanted to reach out and touch her, but he knew that it wouldn’t have been the right thing to do.

“That’s changed, though,” he said instead, “You know that, right?”

Angelica had looked back up at him. Her eyes were wet, but she had not wiped them.

“I know,” she’d said, her voice thin, “’Cause it’s true for me as well.”

She had been the one to reach out her hand, then, and Alberto had taken it, moving in closer until they were arm-to-arm and she could lay her head against his shoulder. Together they had circled Angelica’s belly, that magical place where their common future was growing.

“Now it’s different,” Alberto had said, absentmindedly playing with a strand of her long hair, “Now I only want her for _her_.”

“You better,” Angelica had smiled, “’Cause I can already tell this one’s coming out teeth first, and she won’t settle for less.”

It was the last thing he had expected to be able to do after everything that had happened, but Alberto had laughed. Small and quiet, barely a snort, but true. And when Angelica had waved him to go on, neither of them had felt the need to move from that position, and so that was how they still where, when Angelica asked:

“What are you going to do now?”

Alberto gave a helpless shrug.

“What’s there for me to do?” he said quietly, picking back his war against the moss, “What, with Nadia and him…”

“Nadia and him, what?”

Alberto stopped, small piece of dirt between his fingers.

“What do you mean, “ _what_ ”?” he scoffed, “Him and Nadia. Nadia and him. Do you need me to draw you a picture?”

The piece of dirt got flung towards the ground floor, disappearing silently behind the rain curtain.

“They even live together, Christ. You know, I’ve got to admit, I wouldn’t have pegged Aurelià to be a dick about that sort of thing. And honestly, I expected you to be angrier on Nadia’s behalf about all of this.”

Angelica leaned forward, looking at him with wide eyes, as if she had just heard the most moronic thing in her entire life.

“Albè, you know those two aren’t together, right?”

Alberto blinked, slowly. Now that was just _too much._

“Angè, what the fuck are you talking about? Have you had a stroke?”

“I’m very serious.”

She straightened up, kneeling to face him.

“They tried it, yes,” she started, slowly, making sure he was looking at her and was following along, “Some time ago. But it didn’t work out. She told me so herself: that they did their best, but that there was just too much going on, for the both of them. That they loved each other, but…”

Her eyes darted down, but only for a second, before Angelica recovered and added:

“Like you and I.”

Alberto’s mouth hung half-open like some kind of fool’s. In the midst of all the raging confusion, a few memories were coming back to him, details he hadn’t even noticed previously – not consciously, at least: the complicit looks Aureliano and Nadia exchanged, but which never lead to any holding or touching. The unmade bed in the coral room, but sheets and a pillow on the couch by the window as well.

“ _We missed each other, Angè,_ that’s what she told me,” Angelica concluded, “ _Like people miss their train._ ”

The phrase filled Alberto with an inexplicable sadness, but he didn’t have time to wonder why that was, because his mind was filled with way, way too many other questions.

“But wh-” he struggled, feeling like an idiot and certain he looked it, “She said that to you? Really?”

“Of course she did!” Angelica laughed, “Idiot, you and him not the only ones who are friends, you know? Do you think we don’t talk?”

She quirked her brow.

“Now that I think about it, judging by this situation, I guess we actually talk way more.”

With a confused frown, she turned back to him.

“I don’t get it,” Angelica said, “Aren’t you happy?”

Alberto wouldn’t have been able to tell his head from his ass, in that moment, so he was leagues away being able to answer that kind of question.

“I don’t know”, he said, lost like he had only felt once before then when, as a kid, Manfredi had shoved a VHR tape of Top Gun in the TV for him, telling him to look closely at Kelly McGillis, but all Alberto had been able to see instead were Tom Cruise and Val Kilmer shining under the foreign Californian sun, “Angè, I don’t understand jack shit anymore.”

“But you love him.”

Alberto opened his mouth.

“That wasn’t a question.”

He closed it.

The rain still gave no sign of settling down. Clearly, that summer storm was going to rage all throughout the night. Alberto closed his eyes, thinking that if he zoned out the thunder, the rain sounded a bit like the sea. Behind closed lids, all he could see were eyes much the same color, and the sunniest of smiles.

“I can’t stop thinking I shouldn’t be telling any of this stuff to you, of all people,” he said, rather than surrendering to admitting the obvious out loud.

“No, it’s better, actually,” Angelica said, convinced, “This whole thing helps me a lot, in a way.”

She pulled her legs to her chest, circling them with her arms.

“I think part of me still believed, you know? In you and I.”

Alberto wanted to say he was sorry, but she didn’t let him interrupt, rather pursuing:

“But I’m free, now. We’re both free. Don’t you see?”

She was looking straight ahead, as if talking to the rain, the clouds, the sky, even.

“If we want to rule this place, it’s to do as we please. It’s to be happy. We were forced, but we ended up choosing each other, the two of us, and now we get to choose everything else as well. Even love. Don’t you get it?”

She raised her chin, proud, as if to challenge some invisible enemy.

“We’re taking _everything_. ‘Cause if we die tomorrow, Albè, I want us to die sated.”

Angelica was beautiful, Alberto knew that as much as the next man. But he wasn’t sure many others beside him had ever had the privilege of seeing how royal she could also be.

Softening, Angelica lowered her gaze and reached her hand out to him, trusting he would take it without even needing to look. Alberto did so gently, dragging his thumb over her knuckles.

“I just need us to stay like this, no matter what,” she said quietly, “You, me, and her.”

She straightened her legs again, looking at her belly, with her hand curling around it as if to protect that piece of both of them that was growing inside. 

“A family.”

Alberto covered her hands with his.

“Of course,” he whispered, feeling lighter than he even anticipated he’d be able to feel in that moment, “With this one between us, who’s going to get in the way?”

Then, as gently as he could, Alberto cupped Angelica’s face and landed a firm kiss on her forehead. He closed his eyes, breathing all the way down for the first time in hours.

“How did I get so lucky, Angè?” he wondered, ever so softly, “Were you sent?”

“Don’t get sappy,” she scoffed, but there was a shaking in her voice, and she didn’t shrug him off.

She grabbed the edge of his shirt, instead, softly working it with her fingers, before adding:

“We found each other. That’s it.”

Then, clearing her throat, she leaned back a little. Straitening the hair at the sides of her head, she replaced a few rebel strands behind her ears.

“And now,” she said, more firmly, “If you don’t go fix this thing with him, I’m going to beat you up. That clear?”

Alberto nodded, even if the knife had just twisted.

“Crystal.”

At least for her, he had to be brave.

“And drive slow,” she added, but before he could get up, she seemed to hesitate.

She looked towards the edge of the roof, which was getting less and less visible by the second, between the rain and the deepening night. She reached out her hand.

“But first, help me get back inside,” she said, “I don’t want to fall off.”

Alberto smiled again.

When they were both safely back in the room, he noticed the rain had completely flooded the flooring under the window. That didn’t matter: they were redoing the whole thing from scratch, anyway.

“Next time, I want to hear your secrets,” he told her, putting his car keys back in his pocket while she slicked back her wet hair.

Maybe another time he’d tell her about Teo, and why he’d stopped talking about him all of the sudden. _Maybe another time, he’d even tell her about Alex._ There would be time for it all, but first, Alberto wanted to hear what she had to say.

They had a deal, now, anyway.

“Alright,” Angelica said, with that sad smile of hers, “But you have to promise me that you won’t judge.”

  


******

  


The second drive was barely clearer that the first, to be honest. It was getting late, and the rain was getting worse – which barely seemed possible, but there it was – which meant there were even less people around, and even fewer cars on the road with him. Alberto had balled up the black shirt, still wet, on the passenger seat, and he was doing his best to resist the urge of shooting it a glance every five seconds. His fingers were drumming against the wheel, his foot beating a crazed tempo right next to the brake. 

He had zero plans, zero prepared speech, zero strategy. He was going in there blind, but there was no turning back, now. He didn’t _want_ to turn back, even if he was just as tired as he was scared.

But when he reached the hotel, and left the car parked in its usual spot, Alberto found the place dark, except for the entrance hall and facade, which were always lit. Aureliano’s big jeep was there, so in theory, so was he, but not a single light was on, and there seemed to be no movement happening inside. It was night, yes, but it wasn’t late. Alone in front of the opaque glass door, under the beating rain, Alberto wondered if Aureliano hadn’t simply decided to go to bed. 

That would have been the perfect, humiliating cherry on top of the shitty roller-coaster of a day he’d just lived.

He knocked. It wasn’t like he had much else to do, anyway, right? Maybe Aureliano had just decided to stay up in the dark, for some fucking reason.

 _“Fuck me,”_ Alberto thought, knocking again, louder this time, _“Fuck me, and my stupid fucking decision to fall in love with the dumbest man in all of Italy.”_

Almost immediately he heard movement behind the door. Steps. With a steadying breath, Alberto stood back, fists curled, gathering whatever meager courage he could scramble together, even if his throat felt strangled tight enough to make his head spin. It was going to happen, right then, he’d see him again, in barely a second, and he had to be ready, because Alberto knew full well that the sight of those eyes could very easily send all control he had managed to gather flying off like a card castle in a gust of wind – or a sand one, at the mercy of blue waves.

The door opened, but it wasn’t Aureliano standing behind it.

It was Nadia.

Alberto’s stomach sunk. What if Angelica had been wrong? What if it was all really some kind of twisted joke?

“There you are,” Nadia sighed, crossing her arms, “Finally.”

 _Finally?_ Alberto looked at her stunned, and she stared him back, unreadable. She was wearing a loose fitting shirt and pants with an abstract pattern, and her makeup was a mess, black streaks all around her eyes, probably because of the rain.

“I was almost starting to worry,” Nadia said, and even if Alberto didn’t have the barest idea what was happening, he knew he had to at least try to say _something._

“I-” he started, without any idea how he was planning to end the sentence, “Aurelia’…”

He squinted against the rain in his eyes.

“Weren’t you at the fair?” he settled for, defeated.

Nadia cocked her brow, shifting her weight from one leg to the other.

“I was,” she said, leaning against the door frame, “And now I’m here. I heard there was an even bigger mess that needed sorting out.”

Alberto suddenly realized that the streak around Nadia’s eyes wasn’t a makeup mishap, but motor oil, and so were the spots on her clothes. Her hands too were coated with it, streaked with oily black up to the elbows. She had to have really ran out of there, if she hadn’t even taken the time to clean herself.

Alberto wanted to ask a thousand questions – chief of which, of course, being “where is Aureliano?” - but a voice from behind him in a single second managed to wipe out every single word he had laboriously lined up in his head.

“Spadì?”

Alberto turned around.

Aureliano was at the bottom of the stairs. He was wearing running pants and a hoodie, but with the kind of rain that was coming down, it was worthless protection. He was soaked from head to toe and panting as if he’d just ran a whole marathon.

And he was looking at him with the strangest expression, a mixture of surprise and something that almost looked like fear – the same one Alberto was sure he was giving him back in return, like a mirror.

“Aurelià,” he said stupidly, because just like anticipated, faced with those eyes he was left with nothing else to say.

 _“Precisely,”_ Nadia said, rolling her eyes, “Let me grab my umbrella, and I’ll get out of your way.”

She leaned back inside and came out with a garish umbrella, which once open looked three times too big for her small frame, and wore the script _“Il Paradiso dei Bambini”_ in bold, brightly-colored lettering.

While Alberto and Aureliano were still standing in the rain without moving, Nadia hopped down the entrance stairs. When she passed by Aureliano, who was still working on recovering his breath, she stopped for just a second to give his shoulder a single, small squeeze.

“See ya, _bello_.”

“Bye, Nadia,” Aureliano said, while she walked away, “Thank you.”

“You boys play nice, okay?” Nadia said in lieu of goodbye, with a wave over her shoulder, and with that heavy rain, despite the garish umbrella, in a few seconds she had faded out of sight.

And just like that, Aureliano and Alberto were left standing alone again, with the sound of the pouring rain as their only company. After a few seconds, Aureliano was giving no indication of wanting to climb the stairs, so Alberto, unsure what else to do, gave a vague gesture towards the hotel behind him.

“Where were you?” he asked.

Aureliano took one last, deep inhale, after which his breathing went back to normal.

“I went for a run,” he replied, pointing at the wall of water behind him, as if it were normal people behavior to go jogging in that kind of weather.

In the harsh lights of the facade, Alberto couldn’t help but find him _stupidly_ beautiful, even like that, with that silly hoodie all glued to his head and his nose scrunched up on one side to wince the beating rain from his eyes.

It was obscene how handsome he always was, _that fucker._

Lowering his eyes, Alberto gestured vaguely with the t-shirt in his hands.

“I brought this back,” he just said.

At that, Aureliano finally moved, climbing the stairs in just a few steps of his tall legs.

“Thanks,” he said, voice low, taking the handed shirt from him.

As he did, his fingers grazed Alberto’s knuckles, and both took their hands back faster than what was probably warranted.

They were like two dogs sizing each other up for the first time, Alberto thought, while the both of them stayed there motionless, without doing or saying anything else.

It was really getting ridiculous.

“Aurelià,” Alberto said, because at this point he was starting to fear that if one of them didn’t take it upon himself to make the first step, there was a very real possibility they’d stay standing all night in the rain like morons, “Can we talk?”

Aureliano nodded, with a deep breath.

“Yeah,” he finally said, “Yes, of course. Let’s get in.”

He opened the door for Alberto, who thanked him quietly and did his best not to graze him as he went by.

With all those coming and goings, the carpeting in the atrium was soaked, and they surely weren’t helping out with that state of affairs. Pulling down his hood, Aureliano ruffled a hand though his hair. Fuck _rain_ , Alberto thought watching him drip everywhere, he looked like he was coming straight out of a swimming pool, instead.

Aureliano must have thought a similar thing, because he seemed to hesitate a second, after which he gestured vaguely Alberto’s way.

“You want to…?” he started, but left the sentence unfinished.

Alberto looked at his own sleeve. It was wet enough to weigh him down.

“Let’s get changed one more time, what can I say,” he sighed resignedly.

They did so in silence. This time the shirt Aureliano lent him was light grey, and with it came a pair track pants, and a towel for his hair. While Alberto was changing – not forgetting to switch his knife from one pocket to the next, a habit so ingrained in him it might as well have been like breathing – Aureliano did as much with his back turned, as if meaning give him privacy.

How quickly things could change, in just a few hours.

Soon they were both wearing dry clothes, but still neither of them was talking. Aureliano was leaning against the back of the couch – the one with sheets on – and was patting his head with a towel of his own. Alberto was against the dresser, rubbing at his neck and looking down, and to keep his other hand busy, he was dragging his fingers alongside the edge of the wooden dresser. His clothes from earlier were still there, across the back of the same chair.

Alberto stopped. The first drawer was half-open, he’d just noticed, and on top of a pile of shirts, through the slim opening he could see the corner of a square-shaped, dark blue object. Carefully, Alberto slipped his fingers though the gap and pulled slightly to open the drawer enough to reveal a small bottle. Not aftershave, Alberto understood, but a cologne. With care, almost reverence, he picked it up and inspected it, turning it in his hands. It was very heavy for its size, rectangular, with edges of night-blue opaque glass left deliberately rough. There were no inscriptions or brand names anywhere, on any of the facets.

“Livia used to buy that for me,” Aureliano piped up.

He scrubbed at the base of his neck, hard, while Alberto raised his head to look at him.

“I don’t even know where she got it,” he kept explaining, without stopping his drying, “I think she said it was french, or something? I’m not sure anymore. I wouldn’t know how to find it again.”

He hung the towel behind his neck, holding both ends of it, staring at the ground.

“When I finish that bottle, I guess it’s over for good.”

Alberto wanted to put it down instantly. Carefully, he opened the drawer to return the bottle safely to the place he had found it, on top of the pile of shirts, like a jewel on a cushion.

“Wait,” Aureliano said, pushing himself off the couch.

In a second they were _extremely_ close again. Aureliano recovered the bottle and turned to Alberto. Before reaching out his hand, he used his eyes to ask for permission. Alberto, throat squeezed shut, nodded yes, and gently Aureliano took his wrist. With his other hand, he flicked the bottle open – an obviously trained gesture – and squeezed a generous dose of fragrance on his arm. There was a softness to his touch that Alberto was certain no one that didn’t know him could have ever guessed possible from the outside.

“You like it?” Aureliano asked, while Alberto breathed in deep.

It was like watching a landscape through an open window after having kept it closed for months. Alberto felt that familiar twinge in his stomach and the same lump in his throat, swelling up enough to choke. Alongside bergamot he could smell other citrus, ambergris, a few woods he could recognize but didn’t know the names of, and especially, _especially_ , a smell of sea, somehow condensed to those few drops, mineral tang of foam bursting against a rock right alongside the dizzying, lung-filling scent of open ocean.

“Yeah,” Alberto simply said, because he knew that if he tried to say more, he would have run the risk of saying _way too much, all at once._

Lowering his arm, Alberto let himself slump forward, slowly, willingly losing balance until his forehead softly connected with Aureliano’s chest – who still hadn’t let go of his wrist. He stayed there, leaning against that warm and solid surface for support.

How could he ever have believed leaving was even an option? Mess or no, business or no business, Alberto should have known by then that when it came to leaving Aureliano’s side, he was way past the point of being able to.

“Albè,” Aureliano started, voice raw, but Alberto didn’t let him go on.

“Just give me a second,” he prayed, closing his eyes.

He didn’t need a lot. Just a moment. Breathing in deep one last time – the fresh smell of cologne mixed together with the fainter one still coming from Aureliano’s skin – Alberto pulled back.

“You hungry?” he asked.

Aureliano was looking at him with wide eyes, but after a second, he slowly nodded.

“A bit.”

“Can I use the kitchen?”

“Yeah, sure.”

*******

  


With the help of his hands on the counter, Alberto hopped behind the bar to go rummage through the fridge. And to believe there were even options, for once… He picked a pack of eggs, a piece of parmesan. There was no pork jowl, but diced bacon in a plastic container. He’d make do with that. From the various drawers he also managed to gather salt and a pack of spaghetti.

With his findings under his arm, he made his way to the kitchen. Aureliano, as requested, had already filled the pot with water, and was bent behind the stove to open the big gas faucet that fed the whole cooking area. Alberto let his bounty down on the central island.

The hotel kitchen was huge, big enough to disorient anyone, but in an angle on the countertop Alberto could see a clean rag had been laid down, with a few pans, plates, knives and other useful utensils already lined out on top. In the neatness of the display Alberto easily recognized Nadia’s hand. 

“Carbonara without any pecorino or jowl bacon ?” Aureliano asked, throwing a look at his ingredients with a cocked brow, “There’s truly nothing sacred left, huh?”

“Hey, it’s _your_ groceries,” Alberto jabbed back, “Actually, since I bet you didn’t even do the shopping yourself, why don’t you try hopping off your high horse a little bit, dick?”

Of course he knew Aureliano’s teasing was only for show, and he silently thanked him for it. It felt so comforting to just slip back into their usual back and forth.

“Grate that cheese,” Alberto ordered, “That way you’ll finally be useful for something in here.”

 _“Oui, Chef,”_ Aureliano said sarcastically, like someone who had seen one or twelve too many late-night television cooking shows at three in the morning.

Grabbing a big bowl and a pan, Alberto focused on his part. 

Breaking, separating, and whisking the eggs. Frying the – regular – bacon, after removing a little excess fat. When Aureliano came in with the cooked pasta, just the right amount of wet, timing was perfect, and the mist coming off from the eggs cooking as they mixed together with the melting cheese, meat and pasta, was satisfying to say the least.

They stayed in the kitchen to eat, Alberto sitting on the central island, Aureliano across from him, on the countertop near the ovens. Just like Alberto earlier with Angelica’s chocolate, Aureliano seemed to have found out after the first bite that he was hungrier than he thought, because he was making nothing short of love to his plate of spaghetti.

“It’s good,” he said in between the second and third fork-full, and Alberto simply shrugged.

“Could use pepper,” he said, modest.

Silence followed, for a bit, while they both ate. After a few long seconds, though, Aureliano breathed in deep, and his fork gave a louder ring as he set it down on at the bottom of his plate.

“Albè,” he sighed, “Please, say something. I’m going crazy over here.”

Alberto stopped, still working on his last bite.

_You and me both, fratè._

Slowly he finished chewing, before wiping his mouth on a piece of paper and finally answering:

“What do you want to hear?”

If Aureliano had questions, all the better: Alberto had no idea where to even start that discussion, so he was grateful for any indication.

“Why did you come back?”

Aureliano’s eyes were on his plate, pushing his last fork-full of pasta from one side to the other.

“Not that I’m complaining,” he added, with that labored edge to his voice, “But when you left, earlier, you got me feeling like I was never going to see you again.”

Alberto set his empty plate down. Aureliano looked genuinely sad, way too much for Alberto to trust himself not to do anything stupid, so instead he put the fork in his plate and made his way to the sink.

“And where would I have gone?” he asked back, opening the faucet, waiting for the water to warm up, “Do you think I have anywhere else? Besides, we’re in business, right? This thing has to be sorted out right away.”

He wiped a hand through his hair, palming hard at the back of his neck.

“But you should thank my wife, really,” he added, lower, “She’s the one who got me to see that.”

Aureliano swallowed the last of his spaghetti and hopped off the counter, empty plate in hand.

“Let me do that,” he said, stealing his spot at the sink.

He gently pushed him aside with his shoulder, and Alberto had to resist the temptation of pressing back. Instead he opted for the much wiser option of yielding and pushing himself up to sit on the counter right by the sink.

“So you told Angelica about earlier?” Aureliano asked.

His brow was furrowed, and he was focused on the first plate and soapy sponge. Alberto rested his back on the wall behind him, letting his eyes trail up to the ceiling lamp, a string of blinding white, crude neon tubes.

“I told her everything,” he admitted.

Aureliano nodded, somewhat stiffly, with one of his wordless noises of assent that meant he was taking in the information.

“Does that bother you?” Alberto asked, before adding, in case he needed further reassurance: “You know she didn’t say a word about me, right? It’s not like she’s going to start singing now.”

“No,” Aureliano said slowly, as if realizing the truth in the words as he spoke them, “It doesn’t bother me.”

He finished rinsing the plate, then shook it lightly to remove excess water.

“Also because I told Nadia, just earlier,” he admitted in turn, and Alberto took the hit.

Grabbing the rag on the hook right next to him, he took the clean plate from Aureliano’s hands and started drying it.

“Damn,” he croaked, doing his best to control the knot that had pulled even tighter around his throat, “They really do know all of our business, then, those two.”

It was reflex, sadly. The kind of fear he felt right then, he’d carried with him everywhere, just like he did his knife, and probably for the same amount of time. And just like it, it had been his best, often only, defense, so it wasn’t like he could shake it off that easily.

“Aurelià,” Alberto said quietly, voice unsteady, “You know that if she tells anyone about how I am, I’m as good as dead, right?”

Aureliano, in the middle of cleaning a fork with care, casually shook his head no.

“No one’s laying a finger on you,” he said without the shadow of a doubt in his voice, “Not as long as I live and breathe.”

Alberto went back to wiping the plate, even though it was already dry. It was the only hope he had to try and discreetly reabsorb the blur that had clogged up his vision all at once, and so he did, biting the inside of his cheek and blinking slowly until he could see sharply again.

Somewhere inside of him a fifteen year old Spadino, with his split lip and bloody knife still in hand, was sobbing with the overwhelming relief of knowing someone besides himself, someday, was going to be willing to bleed to defend him.

Aureliano pulled up with his nose, moving his attention to the frying pan.

“Nadia’s like Angelica, now,” he concluded, “She’s family. You have my word on that.” 

“Alright,” Alberto said, and as he put the dry plate down beside him, he felt himself buzzing with a foreign kind of relief: the relief of being safe, at least in that place, at least with those people.

Aureliano gave a curt nod, as if to declare that matter settled. Turning the water back on, he rinsed the pan carefully, then handed it to Alberto. As he did, he raised his eyes, looking at him head-on for the first time since he’d started cleaning.

“Now I know why you came back,” he said, with obvious struggle, “But you haven’t told me why you left.”

The eye contact didn’t last long. With a pained crease between his eyebrows, Aureliano laid his wet hands on the edge of the sink, dipping his head down between his shoulders.

“Where did I go wrong, Albè?” he asked hoarsely, “I thought you still wanted that. I really did.”

Alberto let out a powerless scoff.

“Of course I still want that,” he said, throat a tight mess, lifting his eyes to the ceiling as if to roll them at the absurdity of that doubt, “Of course I do. I want it more than anything.”

Focusing on drying off the pan, trying not to ponder too hard on the enormity of what he’d just admitted, Alberto did his best to try and explain the mess of reasons why he had ran away, earlier.

“First of all, I thought you and Nadia were a thing.”

“We’re not-”

“I know,” Alberto cut him off, “I know that now, Angelica told me. What can I say, it flew over my head. I guess I should have asked you more about her, but the truth is that I didn’t want to hear about you two. _For some reason._ But it’s more than just that.”

Focusing on a rebel droplet, Alberto did his best to keep his voice from faltering along the way.

“You don’t see yourself, Aurelia’,” he said, more or less successful, “I don’t know how to handle you. Today, you’re telling me these things, but last time, you called me a fag and almost beat me up. Or worse.”

The memories were right there – _golden sunset, blue eyes filled with hatred, I Quartieri blasting at full volume_ – and Alberto did his painful best to swallow them back.

“Sorry for getting confused, you know?” he said, because he couldn’t come up with a better conclusion.

He didn’t want to say those things to hurt him, but in the end it was the truth: ever since that day at the Sail, there was a part of Alberto that had become scared of Aureliano, in a way that hadn’t left him even now, when all risk of a threat from him had seemingly disappeared. Even if it hurt to admit, that didn’t make it less true.

Aureliano sighed, bone-deep and painful. His right hand tightened into a fist, but there was no violence in the way he let it fall against the edge of the sink. Only a profound tiredness.

“My father fucking loved that word, you know?” he said, voice blank, “Could have married it, if you ask me. _Faggot_ this, _faggot_ that, one way or another, it was always in his mouth. Whenever some guy came up on the TV, on the radio, or just passing by in the street… It was constant. Truly couldn’t shut up about it. And Livia wasn’t far behind, let me tell you.”

Aureliano wiped a hand through his beard, breathing deeply.

“At the beach, God, you can imagine,” he scoffed, before adding, with a vague gesture, “At The Gates, you know how it is down there, right?”

Given the subject matter, the conversation should probably have remained dead serious, but to that, Alberto really couldn’t help but react.

“No, Aurelià. I don’t know that for shit, actually.”

There was still pasta left in the big bowl, barely a mouthful, now cold, which needed disposing with if they wanted to finish washing those dishes. That waste somehow annoyed him, so Alberto sacrificed himself and, with a freshly cleaned fork, he shoved all of it in his mouth, not giving a damn whether he kept talking with his mouth full.

“Do you _really_ think I’ve ever _once_ been to the world famous gay-nudist-libertine beach at The Gates in Ostia? Me? Of all people? ‘Cause first of all, whoever caught me there would have slit my throat, be it your family, or mine.”

He swallowed. There was something so ridiculous in that idea, in that situation, in that whole entire nonsensical day, that against all logic Alberto couldn’t help but chuckle to himself, a little hysterically, while he stabbed the last piece of bacon at the bottom of the plate with his fork.

“But also, if I’m being honest, of all places? I’ve always wondered: why the fuck do people pick the beach to go get their dick sucked at?”

Making quick work of the last piece of pork, Alberto threw the fork into the bowl and handed the whole to Aureliano.

“You ever gotten head with sand involved, Aurelià?”

Looking at him as if he feared he’d gone crazy, Aureliano slowly took the bowl from him and simply answered:

“No.”

Alberto nodded, pointing his hand at him as if to say _“ see?”_

“Well, me neither,” he said, “And it doesn’t seem all that inviting, frankly. No?”

Aureliano stared at him with the bowl in his hands, speechless, for a whole second. Alberto repeated his gesture as if to drive in his point.

“No?” he insisted, absurdly amused, while the first flash of that familiar spark Alberto cherished above all else started to gleam in Aureliano’s eyes, “Just me?”

Slowly, the corner of Aureliano’s lip started curling up, and he began shaking his head. The smile reached his eyes as he let the bowl down in the sink, and then he uncovered his teeth in that sunny grin of his, and he started laughing. Alberto could do nothing but to slip down the hill with him: like kids at the back of the classroom Alberto and Aureliano burst into a fit of uncontrolled laughter, as if they had never stopped.

“You’re so fucking stupid, Spadì,” wheezed Aureliano, covering his eyes with his hand and flipping to lean his hip against the sink for support.

“Stupid, maybe, but no fool,” Alberto did his best to snap back, in no better state himself, “You’re not getting near me with that sandy blowie shit. Call me _Anakin.”_

He pulled up with his nose, eyes teary from laughter, while Aureliano buckled down worse than before.

“God damn it,” Alberto laughed, joining his hands in prayer, “This guy meets _a single gay_ , and he already thinks we all jump out the same hole in the dunes like some kind of Tolkien orcs.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” asked a powerless Aureliano, now red in the face and completely unable to stop.

If Alberto could have gotten that expression tattooed on his body, right then, he would have done so without hesitation.

“ _The Lord of the Rings,_ you illiterate ass!” he said instead of saying what he was really thinking in that moment, which was _“I love you so much I could cry.”_

With his face buried in his hands, Aureliano was doing his best to get himself under control, but it took him a while. Alberto too struggled, forced to breathe through his mouth and keep his eyes closed, lest he saw Aureliano’s face again and spiraled back worse than before. When he finally reemerged, Aureliano wiped his eyes and cleared his throat a couple of times.

“Nice flick,” he said, pitch raised from lack of air, “Viggo Mortensen’s in it.”

He took the rag from Alberto’s hands and wiped his face with it.

“God,” he sighed, finally under control, “I needed that. Thank you.”

He turned back to face him. He was still smiling, with eyes shining and his cheeks all red. _Handsome enough to drive anyone insane._

“What was I talking about?” he asked, handing him the rag back, and with the same one Alberto wiped his nose, trying to recover a semblance of focus.

“You were telling me about your father,” he answered, breathing deeply, and succeeding more or less, “And how much of a dick he was.”

Aureliano nodded, with a dark edge to his smile.

“Right. My dad. The whole fucking package.”

He turned back to the sink, clearing his throat one last time and opening the faucet to fill the bowl that still needed cleaning.

“You know what I was getting at, anyway, right?” he said, soaping up the sponge again, “With a guy like that around, I knew right away that there were some thoughts I simply was not allowed to have.”

Alberto settled against the wall, turned slightly to face him better as he listened. He felt strangely light, almost high, in a way. Something had shifted in the air, and Alberto soon realized what that was: the knife had slipped from his belly, pulled out by that laughter and vanished into thin air. But he didn’t have time to dwell on it, because Aureliano was telling him about his life, and there was nothing in the world that could make him turn down that rare privilege.

“I learned to shut up real fast,” Aureliano went on, “Actually, I learned to bark even louder than the others, ‘cause I hoped that it would keep them off my scent even more. And I was fine with it, you know? I really thought so. ‘Cause I still had alternatives, in the end. You know what I mean? I’m not like you like that. I was ashamed, yeah, but over the years I almost managed to make myself forget it, this big notion of me apparently not being able to see all that difference between men and women, when it comes down to that side of things.”

The bowl was clean, and Aureliano shook it a bit, before turning to hand it to Spadino.

“But Albè,” he said softly, lifting to him a look that turned everything around him upside-down – _almost reverent,_ “That day at The Sail, you made me remember everything.”

Leaving the plate in his hands, he dipped his eyes.

“And I got scared shitless,” he said, with anger, “And I didn’t even understand what the hell was happening to me. And then suddenly Livia did- what she did, and there was no time left to think, and no one left to talk to, ‘cause Isabel was gone, and she was the only one-”

His voice hitched, and he stopped. Alberto looked away deliberately, not wanting Aureliano to feel watched as he worked through that bottomless pit of grief.

“-the only one who could have heard me. And then Liv’ came back. And then you and Lele. And I still had no idea what the fuck was going on.”

Alberto urgently needed something to keep his hands busy with, but he remembered he’d just used the rag to wipe his nose, so he hopped off the counter to look for a clean one. Even better: opening drawers would be the perfect excuse not to look Aureliano in the face, with his eyes looking so terribly helpless, all at once.

He had never heard him talk so much, all at once. Alberto’s gut twisted at the thought that, while a fifteen year old Spadino was living through his worst hell, in the same city, at the same time, the one he knew only under the name of “the Adami son” – often followed by a spitting on the ground – was struggling to stay afloat at the mercy of very similar currents – and that they still hadn't entirely died down, for either of them.

A new drawer. Cutting boards. Nope. Frosting pipes, neither. Cookie cutters, fruit peelers, bottle openers. Was there everything, in that kitchen, except a clean rag?

“And how did you get from there to-” he said, over his shoulder, grateful for the distraction, because he knew deep down asking that question aloud while looking at him would simply have not been possible, “To doing what you did earlier?”

His heart was drumming in his chest. _Kissing me._ He couldn’t even say it aloud.

“Albè,” Aureliano said from right behind him, startling him into whipping around.

“Here.”

He was handing him a clean rag. Of course, he would have known where they were. Alberto extended his hand to take it, and just like last time with the shirt, their fingers touched as he did so.

Except his time, neither of them pulled back.

It was still raining, outside, but in that room the noise was barely audible, a faint drumming in the distance. The smell of cooking hadn't been enough to cover the scent of Aureliano’s cologne, Alberto noticed. It still bloomed from his arm, the wide open sea by a black cliff, behind a curtain of white houses and citrus trees. Like a cocoon, a veil wrapped around the both of them.

It had all started off so normal, and then everything had gone to hell.

_And now?_

“Honestly,” Aureliano said, very quietly, “Even I don’t understand the tempo of it all.”

His fingers, which still grazed over Alberto’s knuckles, started moving, a slow up and down, barely a touch, light as a feather.

“There were waves. Yeah,” he said, nodding to himself, “It happened in waves, back and forth. One day everything seemed so obvious, and another I thought I was going insane. One day I wanted you out of my life, the next I was making up all the excuses in the world to come look for you. Ever since that day at the Sail, to the night of Lele’s death. But that one didn’t work out, did it? And then today, in the cigarette-reeking office of that fucking witch Sibilla, for some reason she managed to flick the switch in my brain again, and I can’t turn it off anymore. I don’t want to.”

They were close again, so very close. Alberto, with his free hand, slowly reached out to graze Aureliano’s, balled up in a fist against his thigh. The second his fingers touched his, without a moment of hesitation Aureliano grabbed them, squeezing them as hard as he could without hurting him.

“After Lele,” Aureliano went on, voice growing rawer with every word, “Everything’s started to move at a pace I can’t follow. One wrong move, and we’ve got all of Rome at our throats. It’s happened with Isabel, then with Livia, then him… Albè, if something happened to you, and I had been too craven to give it another shot, I-”

Aureliano stopped, squeezing his eyes shut. Alberto understood. _He understood far too well._

 _“One wrong move,”_ Sibilla had said, earlier, with the smoke from her cigarette curling up in front of her hard eyes, _“And in this thing you are treating as a game, you die. One, the other, or both, maybe because instead of getting serious, you’re here cracking jokes at each other. But recess is over, boys, and I get the feeling you’ll find out about it very soon. Trust me.”_

“I had to do something,” Aureliano concluded, reopening those insanely blue eyes of his, “You understand? And I had to do it better, no doubt about it. My dad’s no excuse to justify what I put you through. But Albè, I don’t fucking know how to do these things. I know from outside it looks like I do, but trust me, from in here? I don’t understand fuck all anymore.”

Pulling up with his nose, looking down – that expression, always the same one – Aureliano quietly repeated:

“Really fuck all.”

Alberto blindly threw the rag aside and took Aureliano’s face in his hands, exactly like that time, in the golden sunset. Maybe that was the wrong move, but Alberto couldn’t give a fuck anymore.

 _“We missed each other, Angè,”_ the sentence rang in his mind, _“Like people miss their train.”_

Aureliano pressed his forehead against his.

“I want to kiss you,” he said, voice raw, and hands softly grabbing at his hips.

_We’re taking everything._

“Albè, tell me I can kiss you.”

_’Cause if we die tomorrow, I want us to die sated._

“Please,” Alberto whispered, both prayer and permission.

This time there were no introductions.

Alberto was shorter but Aureliano was unbelievably pliant under his hands. To get him to lean down those last few needed inches, the smallest pressure of hands behind his neck was more than enough. And just like that, he had him flush against him one more time, boiling lips pressed on top of his own, and hands which grabbed his waist with desperate energy.

Aureliano’s breathing was tense on his lips, _Aurelià,_ against whom everything blurred together for Alberto, citrus, sea, skin, the sweet of rain in his hair. _Aurelià,_ who held him pressed against the counter behind him, and exactly like last time, was the one to invite Alberto to push himself even further. With just a flash of tongue, he gifted himself, and this time Alberto didn’t hesitate one second before taking what he was offered.

“Aurelià,” he panted, in that mouth which opened itself against his, greedy and warm and perfect.

Aureliano just pulled him in closer, with a hand on his neck and another anchored firmly at the curve of his back, hungry for getting kissed over, over and over again. Alberto wanted nothing more than to give him exactly what he was asking for, to keep him there and take his offered mouth until they were both satisfied. He lost all notion of time, in that endeavor. All Alberto knew was that by the end of it they were both straining for breath, that their necklaces had all wrangled up together, and that his chin was burning from the friction of Aureliano’s beard against his skin – the most perfect pain there could be. They had traded places, even if Alberto only barely remembered having made that decision to flip them around. He was he one holding Aureliano against the counter, now, a panting Aureliano who was tightly holding him to himself with those big, tattooed arms of his, and was softly kissing his neck. Those arms were long enough to circle him entirely, as if he couldn’t hold him close enough, and Alberto never wanted to move from that embrace. How rare a feeling, in his life, _being held._

“There,” mumbled Aureliano, resting his chin on top of Alberto’s shoulder with a shaky sigh, “ _Now_ we’re talking.”

He had a voice like a boxer in-between rounds. Alberto couldn’t help but laugh, happy to remain there, half-buried in Aureliano’s chest. His head was spinning too, from the perfect drunkenness of being there, deafened by the beats of that strong heart, that deep fragrance of sea mixed with Aureliano’s skin everywhere around him, and relief buzzing loudly throughout his whole entire body, melting away every knotted muscle of his shoulders and back. He closed his eyes, wanting to enjoy every second, but his oh-so-pleasant pillow started to shake, pushing him away, and Alberto understood that it was because Aureliano had started to chuckle against his ear.

“ _Ao’_ , the fuck are you laughing at?” he asked, leaning back.

He was laughing too, already, just from mirroring his smile. Or maybe it was just because he was so _God damn_ happy.

“Do you know how much shit Lele would have given us for this?” Aureliano laughed, which only worsened the situation.

“Oh God,” Alberto choked, pinching the bridge of his nose, “With what we’ve done to him because of Monaschi? Can you imagine?”

“He would never have let us forget it.”

“He’d still be laughing now.”

It was bittersweet, that laughter, but it felt good. When it died down, it left them both a little more sober.

Just a little, though.

“Yeah,” Aureliano sighed.

Alberto rested his cheek back against his chest. With the memory of Lele always came the knowledge of how unsure things were. How temporary.

Aureliano pulled up with his nose, giving Alberto’s back a firm rub and landing a quick kiss in his hair. Perhaps he had just had the same thought.

“We need to be careful, Aurelià,” Alberto murmured, slowly dragging his thumb up and down his spine, as if counting the strong bones there, one by one, “We’ve left Ostia. Now we’re walking with the wolves.”

Aureliano gently pushed him away by the hips, just enough to look him in the eyes. They were shining, but not in the same way as before.

“Albè,” he said, “You trust me, don’t you?”

He ran the flat of his hand across his rib-cage. His fingers found the right spot and started slowly rubbing it, up and down, like waves against the irregular edge of that bone done in well and repaired poorly.

In a way, nothing had changed, but in another, everything had.

“Almost too much,” Alberto replied, “Hasn’t that always been the issue?”

Alberto flattened both hands, holding him firmly.

“Then trust me,” he said, “Maybe they’re wolves, but we’re sharks. Now that we’re like this, together with the girls, we’re going to _eat them all._ ”

Mirroring his ferocious grin was the easiest thing in the world, for Alberto.

“We’re taking everything,” he said simply.

“That’s right,” Aureliano smiled.

Then, craning his head with a mischievous squint, and dragging his hands down all the way to Alberto’s hips, he pulled him back to him.

“Matter of fact,” he said, “I think I’m still hungry.”

Another thing that had started off innocent, but seemed destined to end otherwise. Alberto laughed, and his laughter lost itself in a mouth eager to be devoured.

****

  


“What do you think they’re doing, right now?”

The sea was pitch black and angrier than before. There was space enough under Nadia’s umbrella for both Angelica and her to stand side by side comfortably, but they still chose to huddle together, with their elbows rested against the wet metal barrier of the seafront promenade. 

Angelica raised an eyebrow. With a childish smile, she lifted both fists and mashed them together, imitating wet kissing sounds with her mouth. A little girl at recess couldn’t have done better. Nadia burst into laughter, shoving her with her shoulder.

“Stop it! How old are you?”

She had asked that first question honestly, with even a bit of worry, but Angelica was right: with all the time that had passed since Nadia had left the hotel, without a call or message from Aureliano, either Spadino and him had killed each other, or they had managed to solve the issue that hung heavy between them for months. 

And judging from how Nadia had watched them look at each other, earlier, standing under the rain like a couple of morons, there was plenty of room to doubt that killing each other was what they had ended up doing.

 _“Oh, Aurelià,”_ Angelica kept laughing, deepening her voice and bobbing her right first like a puppet, _“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this frenching.”_

Her imitation of Spadino was perfect, almost creepily so, but it was to be expected: they were husband and wife, after all.

As often, Nadia found herself unable to resist getting dragged into Angelica’s silly shenanigans.

 _“Cm’here, Spadì,”_ she said, with the deepest, broodiest voice she could manage, and lifting her left fist to bump it against hers, _“You remind me I have feelings, you stupid little asshole.”_

She was sure her imitation of Aureliano wasn’t as good as Angelica’s had been, but at least from a body language standpoint Nadia knew what she was doing, with her curved shoulders, furrowed brow and that set jaw of an overgrown kid playing tough. It couldn’t have been all that bad, because Angelica burst into open laughter and didn’t stop for a good while.

As often Nadia let herself enjoy the sight.

“Those idiots,” Angelica smiled when she’s managed to calm down, pushing her hair behind her ears.

She shook her head, grabbing the barrier again and rocking back and forth absent-mindedly. The rebel strands at the sides of her head had broken free again. With the humidity of the air, it was impossible to keep them under control. Nadia tried her best anyway, picking them gently and putting them back one by one, while Angelica kept looking at the sea.

Those intimate gestures had become a daily occurrence between them, but sometimes – like right then – shyness came back in huge bursts, without warning.

Nadia knew exactly why that was.

“It’s better if I joke about this whole thing, right?” Angelica said softly.

Nadia sighed, settling back next to her.

“Much better.”

Breathing in deeply, Nadia tried to let the smell of the sea infuse her with the courage she needed. It wasn’t at all what she had pictured, but in the end, was there a better night than this one for what she had in mind?

If that fool Aureliano could do it, there was no reason why she couldn’t as well.

“What about us, Angè?” she asked.

Firmly, Nadia put her hand on top of the one – so much smoother and well-kept than hers – of Angelica Anacleti. She looked calm from the outside, she knew – she had not trained that mask of hers for years in vain – but inside, she was boiling up. On the black metal of the barrier, their hands shone together, white of skin and blue of faded tattoo ink, like sister moons. Angelica looked at her with surprise, but she didn’t take her hand back.

With the sound of the rain and the waves as a background – which went back and forth, back and forth without ever stopping, following their own tempo, indifferent to the worries of whoever was there listening to them with clammy hands and butterflies in their stomach – Nadia asked:

“What are _we_ waiting for?”

**Author's Note:**

> If you're wondering where the hc of spadino being a closet nerd originated from, check out [folkwangr26](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Folkvangr26/pseuds/Folkvangr26) and their beautiful au “Heavy Weight”!! (Italian)
> 
> SPOILER SUBURRA S3e05&06  
> //////////  
> Rubina in this verse is born and grows up with four parents and that's that on that


End file.
